


Lakeside

by Corona



Series: My Name is Benjamin [1]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Bickering, Colonist (Mass Effect), Family, Gen, Mindoir, POV Male Shepard, Sole Survivor (Mass Effect), Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 08:51:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8743339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corona/pseuds/Corona
Summary: On Mindoir, sixteen-year-old Benjamin Shepard sits by a lake with his brothers while on a family outing. His brothers are bickering again, but Benjamin is always there to stop things from getting worse.Ten years later, a twenty-six-year-old Benjamin, N7-level Alliance biotic, the sole survivor of his family and of the disaster at Akuze, returns to the same lake and remembers.A contribution to meflashfanwork's December 'Reflection' challenge.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever Mass Effect fanfiction! I hope you enjoy it. Please leave kudos if you do and a review even if you don't, and let me know if I got any details wrong. I'm only new to the games, after all.

> _July 7 th, 2170, three days before the attack on Mindoir_

"Can you bring Harry over so he can look at himself in the water?" James asked.

Their uncle Ryan, their mother's brother, laughed and shook his head. "Afraid not," he said. "Phoebe's breastfeeding him, and, in any case, his neck doesn't work yet, so he couldn't look down. And even if he could, he wouldn't recognise himself. He's too young for that."

James—eight years old, nine a month from today—pouted. "But that's what I wanna see," he insisted. "I wanna see how he reacts to seeing himself in the mirror. Dad always says babies get so confused. I wanna see if he's right."

Ryan grinned. "He is right, I can assure you," he said. "But if you insist, when we get back, I'll hold him up to a mirror and you can observe."

Daniel chose this moment to pipe up. "Bet you it backfires and he starts screaming," he said in his usual deadpan tone. "Go on, I bet fifty credits."

James glared at him. "I don't _have_ fifty credits, Danny," he said peevishly. "Why don't you go bet with Peter and Amelia and Kevin? I'm sure _they_ have fifty credits."

"The only reason you don't have fifty credits is because you decided to buy that skateboard last week—which, I might add, Mum was going to get for you for your birthday—"

"Hey, all my friends have skateboards! I didn't want to be left out!"

Benjamin could sniff the beginnings of a fight. He hadn't been paying much attention before, but his duties as the eldest brother and child meant he could never completely block out Daniel and James' squabbling, as much as he wished he could. Sighing, he rolled over onto his chest and said, "Cut it out, you two. It amazes me that you can find grounds to fight even here."

Daniel and James, sensibly, both backed down, though they were still shooting each other somewhat ugly looks. Benjamin rolled his eyes and looked up at Ryan, whose smile had faded a little. "Sorry, Ryan," he said tiredly.

Their uncle's smile returned. "It's fine," he said. "I expect Matthew will be doing much of the same when Joanna and Harry are old enough to argue themselves. I know Alyssa already is for Katherine and Peter. And God knows how many times your uncle Mark and your mother had to step in to stop Lucas and I's fighting. All I'm saying is it seems to run in the family."

"Mum's side of the family," Benjamin said. "Dad's side seems entirely fight-free. Well, not entirely, but you know what I mean." His father and his paternal aunt and uncle, as well as his cousins on that side, all did have their fights from time to time, of course, but they were far less scrappy than his mother's family, it seemed.

Ryan nodded. "Indeed," he admitted. "Christ knows why. Anyway, I better get back. We'll call you three over when we're ready, I'm sure."

"Right. See you then," Benjamin said, nodding to his uncle. His two brothers waved, and Ryan smiled, turned, and walked back to where most of their family was gathered.

When he was gone, Benjamin sighed again. "It's a pity you both inherited the aforementioned scrappiness," he said chidingly. "One day, we'll have a week that goes by where you don't have some sort of argument and I think the shock will kill Dad."

"Then that's a good reason to keep arguing, isn't it?" Daniel pointed out. "We don't want to kill Dad."

"Dammit," Benjamin muttered. Daniel really was too good, especially for an eleven-year-old. Perhaps it came with being the middle child. Benjamin shuddered to think what he would be like when he turned thirteen next year. Shaking his head, he decided to change tactics. "Okay, scratch that. What I mean to say is, there's no reason for you to keep arguing. Or to let small spats become big ones. At least think of the rest of us, having to step in and sort it out for you all the time. It gets tiring. Like doing homework. Okay?"

His little brothers nodded mutely. Benjamin knew that his words probably wouldn't make much difference in the end—younger brothers always seemed to have an excellent capacity for fighting, regardless of the family—but if he could get them to back off just for this outing, then he would consider it a mission accomplished.

They all stared into the water, observing their distorted reflections, with their red hair and, in Benjamin and James' cases, green eyes; Daniel was the odd one out with their mother's brown eyes. He wondered what his brothers saw when they looked at their reflections—and at his own. Daniel had never said what he saw, but they were all aware that James saw a future N7-level Alliance biotic. It was entirely possible that Benjamin would end up in the Alliance military, of course, and certainly, he had the potential to be a strong biotic, but the thought of him being an N7-level soldier was simply ridiculous. James truly had no idea.

But still, he was only eight. Benjamin was happy to indulge his fantasies—and his idolisation. There was still a great deal of time yet before he had to grow up and let go. And anyway, he had Daniel, who had always been more realistic—perhaps even cynical—to keep him grounded.

For himself, he only saw in his reflection a teenage untrained biotic. He did not see a future yet, nor had he ever. After all, he still had two years left at school. There was time for him as well.

Plenty of time.

* * *

> _August 7 th, 2180, ten years after the attack on Mindoir_

And here was the last place that he had seen the entirety of his family alive.

It was unchanged from what he remembered, which was more than could be said for the vast majority of Mindoir. The same trees he remembered still stood, untouched. The grass still grew, only it was so long now that it was nearly up to his knees. The same birds flittered and the same animals still scurried through. He could hear the same noises the same way they had been. They were not subdued here, as they were in the town.

He looked around. He saw to his right the little hillock he remembered his family picnicking on ten years and a month ago. That, too, was unaltered. If he stared hard enough and listened hard enough, he fancied he could see them and hear them. He only saw shadows—mere flashes of red hair and of brown hair, mere flashes of green eyes and of brown eyes and of grey eyes, mere flashes of the brightly coloured clothes of toddlers—and he only heard whispers, faint echoes of laughter and talking and the occasional baby's gurgle and cry, but still. He saw. He heard.

There had been 42 people there in total, including himself. Yet somehow, by some twist of luck that he did not know whether to call horrible or miraculous, he was the only one left alive. All the others, if they had had tombstones, would have the same date of death. _Died 10 th of July, 2170, aged…_

Aged eight. James had been eight.

Aged eleven. Daniel had been eleven.

Aged two. His cousin Joanna had been two.

Aged four. His cousin Natalie had been four.

Aged five. His cousin Georgia had been five.

Aged six. His cousin Matthew had been six.

Aged ten days. His cousin Harry had been ten days.

And on it went, for all 41 of them. His cousins, his aunts and uncles, his grandparents, his parents, his brothers… His friends, too, of course. His friends, his schoolmates, his favourite teachers, everyone that he had known…

The glowing memorial that he could see even from here—a great obelisk, soaring up into the sky—was not enough. It was just names and dates and ages. No room for anything more personal. Of course, he knew that that was all that could be provided. Still, it rankled. It hurt. They were more than names and ages and dates. Everyone knew that now, but in generations to come, would people remember that?

He could not know. He wished he could.

Benjamin came down to the water's edge, a vacant look on his face. He knelt, then threw himself on his chest, lying as he had with James and Daniel ten years ago. He stared into the water and observed his distorted reflection, with his red hair and green eyes and the scar on his cheek he had gained trying to save James' life. He still remembered the pain, clear as day, when his cheek had been sliced open down to the bone.

But that had been nothing compared to watching the batarian slaver attacking them shoot James in the head and feeling his brains and blood and bits of his skull subsequently splatter all over his shirt. That—that—he could feel even more clearly. His eight-year-old brother's brains and blood…

Daniel and their parents had already been dead, thankfully. Benjamin had watched them die, too. An artillery strike for them. They'd all been blown to so many bits that they might as well have been vaporised. He hadn't got their blood on his clothes, but that had only been because he'd been too far away. Had he been close enough for that, he would have died in the strike, too.

After that, and especially after James, things had just started blurring together. They remained blurred to this day, but not blurred enough. He remembered much. Too much.

He closed his eyes briefly and then looked back into the water. If he narrowed his eyes and thought hard enough, he could just imagine Daniel and James on either side of him, staring down at their own reflections—reflections that were gone from the universe and would not be seen again.

He had never known what sort of future reflections his little brothers had seen for themselves, but he remembered what James had seen for him—remembered because he was it now. He found a certain brand of irony in it, though it wasn't enough to make him laugh. He could never laugh on this place again, even if he recalled something that had once amused him, which he had done several times since he had come back. He could never laugh, and he did not think he would ever smile. How could he?

"Some way or another, Jimmy," he found himself saying, voice low and restrained, "I became what you said I'd become. An N7-level Alliance biotic. Consider that your birthday present, since I can't exactly get you anything."

James would have been nineteen today. Benjamin figured that he would have said that he could not have received a better present. He could only hope that that was true.

"I'm not a hero yet," he said tiredly. "I am a sole survivor, though. Again. Would that I wasn't!" His voice cracked.

The faces of his unit on Akuze flickered through his head, as they always did when he was reminded of the place or of how he was twice a sole survivor, but they caused him no pain, as was usually the case. He would have rejoiced in that, but he knew why there was no pain now. They could not touch him here. _Here._

He wondered if there was a place anywhere in the galaxy where neither Akuze nor Mindoir could touch him. He would gladly leave the Alliance and all he knew behind to spend the rest of his days in that place. What it must be like, to live untouched by such things as he had known…

He looked back at the hillock. He saw them again, the flashes of them, the shadows of them. But then they froze and fell where they stood, and he saw them more clearly now, as they lay covered in blood—if they were lucky. Body parts littered the field now. Brains. Bits of skulls. A ten-day-old baby's head, mouth open in a cry that would never end.

He blinked.

And it was all gone.

He stared into the water, observing his distorted reflection. He had not seen a future for himself, once, because he had felt he had had plenty of time. He had only seen himself as he was.

Now he saw what he must look like beneath the surface. He saw a man soaked in blood, eyes pleading for help, a scream coming from his mouth. He saw, too, the futility of both. Nobody would ever see him plead. Nobody would ever hear him scream.

He wanted to scream.

God, how he wanted to scream.


End file.
